


Under Trees and Under Hills

by actualmichelle



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualmichelle/pseuds/actualmichelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo's tentative friendship with Thorin is still new as their company ventures into Mirkwood forest. Under the dark whispers of the trees he begins to loose himself, both to memory and what is to come. Meanwhile, Thorin recognizes similarities in Bilbo that he does not expect--and the two form a deeper bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Trees and Under Hills

It was possible that the brief respite with Beorn started it all. Looking back Bilbo recalled plentiful cream and honey, accompanied by sizable animals. But within the routine there must have been glances and hidden innuendo—something beyond the ordinary. After crossing the threshold of Mirkwood forest he first began to feel it, a yearning for something just out of his grasp. As the darkness swelled around him and the suffocating turgid air bore down upon them the company marched on, each locked in their own thoughts. Bilbo’s swirling around and around one topic….what was going on with him?

Perhaps this was a reaction to all the stress he had undergone in the last months. As a (formerly) respectable hobbit he was not accustomed to this level of stress and activity. Between the trolls, the goblins, the wargs, and the flight with the eagles Bilbo had become quite puckered out! But in truth, with each new adventure Bilbo had felt a new understanding of himself—of the world—click into place. Perhaps not one with greater clarity, but a greater respect and sense of responsibility for the world around him. After all he was the only hobbit wandering these distant lands, it was hard to turn one’s back on the things he knew now.

No, it was not stress. Bilbo stumbled, over some unseen object that failed to impede anyone else. Kili caught his arm, righting Bilbo with care.

“Don’t fall Bilbo! We might never find you again in this darkness,” Kili all but yelled in Bilbo’s ear, or at least it sounded so in the heavy silence of the trees.

Fili was the first to reply, with a softer tone, “You’re one to talk, nearly trampling me in your haste to get to the forbidden tree line! Getting lost on the ground wouldn’t be so serious as getting lost in this forest.”

“Oh, I do wish you hadn’t mentioned the forest. It feels as if the trees have ears….,” Bilbo muttered, as the two continued bickering behind him.

As usual no one but Balin paid his words any mind, who shot Bilbo a small commiserating smile from up ahead. Thorin ambled on, leading the line with solid determination and without any sign that the talk or the forest was making an impression upon him. Bilbo smiled fondly and continued to tread on, doing his best for a silent imitation.

They continued for quite some time, until they stopped for next meal which turned out to be cream and bread. Bilbo found himself to not be hungry, picking at his food while the nearest dwarrows sent him looks ranging from confused to concerned. In truth Bilbo found himself reminiscing about Bag End. This forest tended to bring out his most meandering thoughts, leading him round and around in endless circles. Just as the trail they were following seemed to do.

Right now Bilbo was thinking not of his pantry or his soft bed—which historically had occupied the bulk of his thoughts on the subject—but of the sheaf of papers upon his desk. Before leaving he had been working to translate a small book of elvish poetry for the Hobbiton library. It was not a popular resource for reading in the Shire but he had been hoping reading foreign poetry in a familiar tongue would awaken literary interests in another hobbit.

This literary adventurousness had not carried over to other parts of Bilbo’s life.

And he wished to continue his work, to settle down for the night with some tea and write until his quill rubbed away at the preformed calluses at the groove of his thumb, and the familiar ache of his wrist and the smell of his ink became the only thing within his awareness….

“We shall stay here for rest,” Thorin announced.

“I will take the first watch,” Dwalin grunted as he finished the last of his bread, and Thorin nodded regally—as always, Bilbo smiled wryly to himself.

More frequently Bilbo spent his nights staring into the darkness half asleep, incoherently dreaming of Bag End. The dreams were fragments of everyday life in his home and they always ended the same way: suffocating fog descending upon his surroundings, leaving Bilbo to wake in the darkness gasping for breath. Normally this occurred without notice, but this night Thorin was on watch and little escaped his notice even in the unending darkness.

It began in the garden, the sun shining a midst fluffy white clouds, the smell of nearby lavender pulsing through the air. Bilbo sat holding a book on his lap—a massive, ornate volume which he couldn’t remember seeing before and it sat heavily on his lap, smelling of burning leather. Birds chirped, trilled, and tweeted with a hint of fanaticism; everything seemed close yet far away and it began to sit uneasily in Bilbo’s stomach and coiled tensely in his muscles.

The clouds quickened, blotting out the sun and graying the world—the birds fell silent. A chill permeated the air and the smell intensified and the book began to melt in Bilbo’s lap as the air filled with screams and the smell began to intensify, burning leather into burning flesh and heavy clouds of smoke and fire enveloped the air and Bilbo wished to cry out and escape but could only panic and choke on his breath and the smoke about him…….

Then everything went black, and Bilbo felt a hand on his shoulder and the familiar smell of Thorin replaced the burning.

“I’m awake,” Bilbo muttered, his previous state eluding him.

Thorin nodded—or seemed to, as Bilbo felt Thorin’s hair brush against his own. Everything was pitch black but could guess at the face the dwarf was making…consternation blended with annoyance. But that thought belied Thorin’s next action.

“You are,” Thorin stated solidly and without hesitation as he gently moved his hands to grasp both shoulders and rested his forehead lightly against Bilbo’s, his breath warm as he exhaled into the near embrace.

Bilbo froze, soothed against his own will but incapable of not tensing out of fear—of ruining the moment, or offending Thorin, and such a multitude of other things including the expectation which lurked underneath his skin and threatened to break free from elusiveness.

But Thorin seemed not to notice and whispered, “Go back to sleep, burglar,” as he abruptly let go and pulled back, leaving Bilbo alone in the dark. But yet as Bilbo rolled to his other side the scent of sweat, dirt, and underlying pine lingered and falling back to sleep he did not feel alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not totally sure where this is heading, but expect The Shining-style creepiness and a slow build romance.


End file.
